


Please, let me forget you.

by Mysteriouscheekbones1



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2434337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysteriouscheekbones1/pseuds/Mysteriouscheekbones1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-kill the moon, Clara remembering the man the Doctor once was and who that man has changed into. </p><p>Angsty and a bit of masturbation, please don't kill me, i can't help but ship these two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please, let me forget you.

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to Write this at around three in the morning, what can you do when overcome by feels? Criticism and comments are more than welcome, they make me want to write a lot more (also i have awful writer's block at the moment, this is me scraping the dust from my brain)!

"Clara, drinks tomorrow night?" 

 

 

"Oh- yeah, sure!" He gave her that look, damn she hated that look.

 

"You were thinking about him again, weren't you?"

 

"N-no! I wasn't-" that look, "Danny, c'mon, I wasn't, okay? Just day dreaming, these kids have been driving me batty today. So, yeah, I could do with a drink." She kissed his cheek, giving him a convincing smile before closing the door to her flat on him. Clara waited until the ex-soldier's footfalls died away. It was sweet of him to walk her home.

 

A pain grew in her forehead, she pressed her face to the door. It was cold. Like ice.  _Like him._

_No! No, no, no! We don't think of him anymore, he's gone and he doesn't deserve your sadness._

 

She ate a measly portion of a microwave dinner, washing it down with a glass or three of red wine, still wasn't sure whether it was pasta or baked beans- the microwave meal. She didn't care. She barely ate these past few weeks. Her stomach felt like a void, her chest a cavity, a petty muscle and a few organs lay there but- but... She was empty. 

 

_Goodnight Clara, don't forget to bring those papers in for the lunch meeting tomorrow,_

_Love you xx_

Her thumbs went to type a reply but, already in her pyjamas, Clara drifted into a deep slumber.

_****_

_You're the only mystery worth solving._

_****_

_Oh Clara. Oh. You are beautiful._

_****_

_The future. Running away with a spaceman in a box. Anything could happen to you._

_That's what I'm counting on._

_****_

It wasn't the sweat or the cold shivers that woke her, she didn't think, it was the feel of a pair of cool hands stroking the hair from her face.

 

Clara choked. She pulled her knees into her chest and rocked slowly, chocking on sobs and tears. It soaked into her hair and smudged the make-up she forgot to remove. Did mourning hurt this much? Was there meant to be a hole punched through her chest? Was she meant to feel like someone had reached into her and stolen the air from her lungs when a memory of their adventures arose? Was it even mourning? He was only a man... He'd frozen over, and no matter how hard she tried to break through the ice walls, to warm them, to warm him, to warm his old hearts, they would not budge. Not melt for her anymore.  _You fuck_. He had slipped away from her. Drawn her in and pushed her back out the window, and now, with her back broken, the band aids he'd applied wrenched off, she sat. Quite possibly empty. Alone, without her doctor. The one man who made her feel special, beautiful- wonderful. 

 

 

_Sweetheart, what have you done to us?_

_I turned my back and you turned to dust_

_What have you done?_

_And oh please, just come here, don't fight with me_

_And I admit, think you may have broken it, yes I admit it_

Her fingers moved slowly, as she imagined he would.

 

_His outer shell melted, and he held her close. His young body was now different, full of creases. His face sharp but lips soft as he kissed her, stroking her hair with his hands. Hands that had felt wonders. Hands that had held stars in life and death._

 

She was a stupid little girl, she had to let him go.

 

_His breath brushed her hair, shallow and soft as he whispered._

_Forgive me, Clara. My impossible girl. I am cold and you warm me so, Clara. Oh god, Clara, Clara, Oh. God. Run with me, oh, Clara, run away with me. I have beautiful things to show you. I can be a good man._

She sighed, hot tears spilling over her cheeks, her bed creaking. 

 

_His silver hair brushed her cheek, brushed her tears away as he pushed his head into the warmth of her neck, pushing himself inside her warmth like a man starved by the cold._

_Oh, Clara, oh Clara, oh-_

 

_I am trying so hard to forget you, my clever old man, but I will always want to protect you, I was born to protect you._

_Why won't you let me._

_Teach me how to fucking protect you, bastard._

Clara covered her face with her hands, ashamed at the mixture of pleasure and pain she'd  brought herself. lost and cold. Abandoned by the one she trusted.

She fell back into a sleep. The shadow of a man falling over her trembling body.

****

Why did he find it so hard to love in this form? Was he finally shutting down? He couldn't help but be so damn cold. 

 

It was never just the face that changed.

 

The doctor had been watching over his young Clara since she had ran from his lonely little box, making sure the silly girl didn't do anything stupid. 

 

Especially with that soldier.

 

_Well done, you miserable bastard. You broke her, finally. Damaged another one._

 

He had watched her sob herself into a sleep, watched her startle awake, her skin covered in sweat.

 

Watched her touch herself, she was such a delicate thing when she did that; Fragile, like a vase. He didn't need to meld their minds together to know what she was thinking of, even if it did bring her to tears of shame and sadness.

 

Pretty, foolish girl.

 

What have you done this time, doctor.

 

"Silly girl." He stroked a wisp of hair from her head, making sure the duvet had been pulled snugly up to her chin before leaving her bedroom, and flying back into the night in his miserable little blue box.

 

Miserable little man in his box.

 


End file.
